


What We've Got

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Malfoy Manor, Minor Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-11
Updated: 2009-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was tired of everyone treating him like their fucking savior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We've Got

Harry Potter was tired of people treating him like their fucking savior. It had been an entire year since he'd supposedly single-handedly saved the wizarding world, and they still hadn't allowed him to step down off that damned pedestal they'd placed him on. He'd tried to explain that, yes, he may have killed Voldemort, but that was just one moment in the entire war. He'd pointed at the other people who'd fought so bravely, those who'd been wounded or crippled or orphaned, those who'd sacrificed their very lives for the cause. Him, he was just one scared kid who'd forced himself to do what he had to do. But no, still they praised and worshipped and loved and adored until he wanted to scream.

It had been one year since the war had ended, but still he faced an endless round of speeches, of parties, of interviews, of articles, of crowds of people scrutinizing him and following his every move with adoration in their eyes wherever he went. He was just so fucking sick of it all. Even his friends weren't immune, including Ginny. Especially Ginny. He'd tried to pick things up with her where they'd left off, but he only got more of the hero treatment. It was always "yes, Harry"-this and "of course, Harry"-that as she stared up at him with reverence sparkling in her eyes. When he'd finally broken things off, she hadn't even raised her voice at him, though God only knew he deserved it with all the unkind words he flung at her. Even now, when he ran into her at this or that function, her eyes still shone when she watched him.

The only sensible one among the whole lot of them was Hermione. When he'd turned to her with his complaints, she'd simply shrugged at him and explained that the people needed a face to pin to their newfound hope.

He wished that face didn't have to be his.

By the end of that year, he was near desperate for someone who didn't treat him like a hero to be worshiped or some deity to be idolized. He wanted someone who wasn't afraid to argue with him, or tell him he was wrong once in a while. He wanted someone who could make him feel human, just a man as flawed and fucked up as all the rest. He needed that.

That's what he told himself as he stood on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor, with just one small trunk of clothes and his broom slung over his shoulder. Draco Malfoy answered the door himself, and regarded Harry silently for a moment before stepping back to allow him entrance.

 

* * *

 

It had been yet another boring celebration where he was forced to make yet another boring speech. It was full of people who watched his every movement with shining eyes and begged him to regale them with the tale of how bravely he'd slain the Dark Lord, just one more time, please Harry, will you, please?

Malfoy had appeared unexpectedly at Harry's side, cornering him beside the large potted plant behind which he'd tried fruitlessly to shield himself.

"Trying to hide, Potter, at your own party?" he'd asked with a smirk.

Harry had flushed, and started to stammer out a retort, but the words never escaped his throat.

"Not that I blame you. This is an extraordinarily dull affair. If I have to hear one more speech about how this is the dawn of a new bloody era, I'm sure my brains will come dribbling out my ears," Draco continued with an exaggerated roll of his brilliant grey eyes.

"I'd be surprised if you had enough brains to leak anywhere, Malfoy." There, now. That sounded almost as cutting to his ears as it had in his head.

But Draco only laughed instead of crumbling into a quivering heap in the face of Harry's cutting comment. 

"Come on," he said, taking Harry's elbow and drawing him away from the wall. "Let me show you a much better time." 

 

* * *

 

The first few days in the Manor with Draco were a refreshing change for Harry. They hardly spoke, even during the breakfasts and lunches and dinners they shared in the formal dining room, the only two at a table that could seat twenty. When Draco did speak to him, it was always scathing sarcasm or biting insults that Harry cheerfully returned in kind. Once or twice his creative remarks on what exactly Draco should shove in which part of his anatomy earned him a small creeping smile of amusement that vanished almost as soon as it arrived. Those unexpected smiles turned Harry's insides to jelly, though he couldn't have explained why.

He enjoyed, too, the unpredictability of their odd relationship. Sometimes Draco would ignore him entirely for hours on end, and others he would drag Harry without warning to the nearest flat surface and shag him relentlessly. And that, too, was a refreshing change.

Draco was a selfish lover, who not only considered his own pleasure above his partner's, but often considered his partner's pleasure hardly worth considering at all. He did what he felt like, when he felt like, and occasionally would leave Harry pleading and unfulfilled after his own desires were sated. Other times, he'd stalk and corner Harry only to pounce on him to give him a blowjob so magnificent Harry was sure that he couldn't possibly be able to move for at least a week. Then Draco would rise, casually adjust his robes, and walk away without demanding anything for himself while Harry still sprawled bonelessly on the floor, trying to remember how to speak. 

Once, Harry asked why someone who clearly had no concern for anyone else would do such a generous thing, and Draco had only smirked in that superior way of his, and replied that he only did it because he enjoyed Harry's helpless reactions.

 

* * *

 

The days lengthened into weeks, and their violent bouts of sex began to take their toll on Harry. Draco would often purposely mark him, leaving the deep impressions of his teeth in Harry's flesh, or the deep purple-red splotches of love bites scattered over his skin. There were the little crescent moons of nail marks and the long scratches in parallel lines and the dozens of bruises in a stunning array of colors scattered all over his body. But Harry never used his magic to heal them. Draco had once said that he liked the way the marks looked. They reminded him that Harry belonged to him and only to him, he said.

After some length of time of suffering these marks in silence, Harry began to give as good as he got. During that heated session, he nipped and he bit, he gouged with his fingertips and grasped hard enough to angry red marks on Draco's pale flesh that he just knew would darken into bruises. When he scored a long set of scratches down the alabaster skin of Draco's back with his nails while his mouth fastened to the tender skin of Draco's earlobe, Draco had yowled, then attacked Harry's neck with his teeth. It had escalated from there until finally, they both lay back, tangled in the silken sheets of Draco's bed, their bodies sweaty and aching and spent.

Their sex had never been this rough, but it had never been this satisfying either.

 

* * *

 

The weeks began to blur into months and slowly, slowly they settled into more of a routine. They still had numerous rounds of violent sex, but between them they had begun to get to know each other as well. Mornings and evenings still largely passed in silence, but in the afternoons Draco had taken to guiding Harry around the Manor or its surrounding gardens and speaking of its extensive history. Occasionally, he'd slip into a more personal tale, about Lucius, now locked away in Azkaban, or Narcissa, dead and gone since last summer. Rarely, he'd speak about his own childhood here, and when that happened Harry would hold his breath and listen in absolute silence lest he shatter the moment, while Draco's face would take on an expression of tender wistfulness that made Harry want to hold him and kiss that look away. 

But he never did, because he knew that Draco would not want him to.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was concerned, naturally, when Harry slowly stopped doing everything he'd done before. He had stopped going out, stopped making speeches, stopped responding to requests for interviews, and eventually stopped visiting his friends. It had taken her a week of cajoling him by owl post before he reluctantly agreed just to meet her for tea.

She'd taken one look at the love bites and bruises that he hadn't bothered to conceal, and predictably sighed. "Oh, Harry."

He'd tried to explain it to her, tried to explain that Draco wasn't really hurting him, and that if she thought this was bad she ought to see what he'd done to Draco's neck only that morning. Harry tried to explain that he enjoyed not being treated like he was precious and fragile. How Draco didn't worship him or dance around him on eggshells, and that was what he needed. He tried to explain how Draco was the only one who really made him feel like an actual person, not just a symbol, and really he'd never been happier. 

But it was hard to explain everything to her when his thoughts kept twisting back to Draco, and the sex they'd had that morning, and what Draco was doing now without him, and perhaps the sex they'd have again that evening when he returned.

Despite his efforts, Hermione had just sighed again. "Oh Harry." 

She didn't understand.

 

* * *

 

It was six months later when Harry finally confessed what he'd suspected for a while.

It was near midnight. Draco had cornered him in the library and dragged him down to the carpet before the fire to give him yet another magnificent blowjob. Then, almost before the last shudders of ecstasy had left his frame, Draco had crawled up his body to shove his own neglected cock between Harry's lips, and fucked hard until he came. Harry's lips were bruised, his throat was sore, and Draco's knees had left bruises where he'd used them to pin down Harry's arms. Afterward, Draco hauled Harry onto the sofa and dragged a blanket over them. They sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and their labored breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Draco?" he asked after a while.

"Hm?"

"Draco, I..." He sat up so he could watch those expressive grey eyes. "Draco. I... I think I love you." 

The eyes narrowed, and Draco slapped him. Hard. Harry's teeth clinked together and he could taste blood. The expression on Draco's face was severe, but there was a sadness behind the irritation in his eyes.

"No, Harry," he said evenly, and his voice contained a tenderness which Harry had never heard it hold before. "You only think you do."

 

* * *

 

After that they began to fight. They'd always exchanged harsh words and slicing barbs. Draco's dry wit and Harry's sharp responses had become a matter of course in their odd relationship. But in the week that followed Harry's confession, the words took on a nastier undertones and razored edges, and left wounds where they landed. Harry's voice rose to an angry shout, and Draco's grew a sharp edge of ice. Harry hurled the first hex, and by the time the argument wound down, the bedroom was in shambles. In an angry hiss, Draco informed Harry exactly how many galleons worth of furniture he had destroyed and the additional cost it would take to restore the room to its former sumptuous glory. 

He'd turned on his heel, then, and stalked out.

He disappeared for three days.

 

* * *

 

The first day, Harry stewed. Good riddance, he thought to himself when Draco entered his thoughts. Let him sulk. I don't care. He'd gone about his business exactly as usual. He hoped that Draco was watching him from whatever corner he'd crawled off to, and that it upset him to see that Harry didn't miss him one bit.

The second day, Harry searched. He'd known the Manor was massive, but it had never seemed larger or emptier than it had now that he was alone in it. He didn't find Draco. And at the end of it, when he'd curled up alone in Draco's bed, face buried in Draco's pillow to breath in the soft smells of Draco's soap and shampoo and the fainter and more delicate scent that was all Malfoy, Harry finally admitted to himself that he maybe did miss the other man. Just a little.

The third day, Harry sat. Ridiculously, he feared that Draco had left him for good. He knew that if Draco wanted nothing more to do with Harry, he wouldn't have been allowed to stay in the Manor. But his mind shuddered at the thought and refused to comprehend it. Draco would come back. He had to come back. Harry sat on the same sofa in the library where he'd confessed his feelings, and waited, and waited, and waited.

It was afternoon before Draco reappeared, sauntering into the library as if he'd been gone only a few minutes. 

Before he could stop himself, Harry was on his feet and had flung himself into Draco's arms. Draco froze, and stood stiffly as Harry snuffled at his neck, breathing in his scent like a suffocating man would gulp oxygen. One of his arms was trapped by Harry's embrace, and he traced awkward little circles between Harry's shoulder blades with his free hand. As if he didn't quite know how he should touch Harry. As if he were unfamiliar with Harry's body. As if he hadn't been fucking Harry for close to a year now.

Abruptly, Harry released him, and they went to dinner. Neither spoke a word to the other, and the next morning they both pretended that everything was fine.

 

* * * 

 

It was a year to the day since Draco had rescued Harry from that dreadfully boring party, and it had been a week since they'd spoken. Draco was avoiding Harry. He hadn't disappeared like he did before, but he simply made every effort to be wherever Harry wasn't. Harry only saw him when they ate and just before they slept. They ate their meals in silence, and slept on opposite edges of the mattress. The few times that Harry had tried to initiate a bout of sex, Draco had very calmly taken those wandering hands and put them away from himself. Harry had stopped trying.

He was sitting in the library alone, flipping through a book that didn't really interest him, killing time until it was late enough for him to curl up in bed and be ignored by Draco. He hardly paid attention as the door swung open and shut, but his head snapped up as a shadow fell over him. Draco stood before him, looking very uncomfortable.

"We need to talk."

Oh God, this is it. He's finally kicking me out, Harry thought. But he met Draco's eyes bravely, and his voice didn't tremble when he said, "So talk."

Draco sighed, and his eyes flitted around the room, looking everywhere but at Harry. "I just... that is to say.... I...." He broke off and shoved a hand through his hair.

It was then that Harry knew just how upset Draco was, for him to deliberately muss his hair like that and not even care to fix it. He watched silently as Draco paced back and forth in front of the sofa. Taking pity on him, Harry stood, blocking the path he was wearing into the carpet. Draco stopped before him. Harry regarded him silently, arms folded across his chest, waiting.

"Oh hell, I'm just going to say it," Draco muttered, meeting Harry's eyes for only an instant. "I only invited you here to live with me because you were pathetic and I hated you. You were always so bloody perfect all the time, and then after the war you just... And then you presented me with the chance to jerk you about like a tame puppy, well, I took it! You can't blame me for that." He paused to search Harry's face for some sort of reaction. Seeing none, he frowned. "That's all this was intended to be, just a bit of sport for me before I told the world everything and embarrassed you so that you'd never show your perfect Potter face in public again. And, all right, the sex was good. That's why it lasted as long as it did. But..." Aware that he was rambling, Draco shut his mouth.

Harry wanted to continue to stare coldly at Draco, but before he could stop them, his traitorous lips were murmuring, "But what?"

"But that's not what it is anymore. Somehow, somewhere along the way..." Draco shook his head, frustrated. "Bloody hell, Potter, I'm in love with you. And I know it's stupid, and I know I shouldn't, but there it is. I do." He spread his hands, looking rather helpless.

"You love me?"

Draco nodded, then let his head bow until his chin nearly touched his chest. "I know it's ridiculous of me to say, especially given how I reacted when you told me... but I had to tell you. And if you really want to make things even, well..." He sneaked a glance up at Harry. "You can slap me, if you want."

Don't be an idiot, I wouldn't hit you, is what Harry thought, but the words that flew from his mouth were, "If you insist." And before he knew it, his fist darted out and connected hard with Draco's face.

Caught off guard, Draco toppled backwards, landing awkwardly on his backside. He stared up at Harry with an almost comical look of disbelief on his face as blood dribbled down his chin from his split lip.

"Bleeding Christ, Potter," he snarled, pausing to spit blood onto the carpet. "I said you could slap me, not punch my fucking teeth in."

And then any further complaints were lost as Harry wrestled him the rest of the way to the floor. His mouth mashed against Draco's in a passionate kiss, and the little moans Draco made were half-pain and half-pleasure as Harry's teeth and lips and tongue pressed the wound. Harry could taste blood, but he didn't care as his hands fisted in Draco's hair, and Draco's hands groped between their bodies as he tried to remove their clothing. And in that moment, Harry knew that he would never belong anywhere but here.

It's certainly not perfect, he thought as Draco's fingers fumbled with his belt. But it's what we've got.

 

* * *

 

Draco had taken Harry to a bathroom, that night one year after the end of the war. And without another word, he'd opened Harry's robes, unbuttoned his trousers, and knelt before him.

"Malfoy, what the... what the bloody hell are you..."

But then Draco had taken his cock into his mouth and Harry lost the ability to think, much less speak. He was awash in sensation. Draco's mouth warm and moving. The cool tile wall firm against his back, and slick under the nails that scrabbled against it. His other hand wound into Draco's hair, and a distant corner of his brain was surprised by how fine and soft the strands were. And the entire time, Draco's clear grey eyes were locked onto his.

When he came, he nearly screamed with the sensation of it, but managed to hold back all but a few choked gasps. His knees buckled and he slid down the wall to the ground. Draco sat back on his heels before him and watched him quietly as Harry caught his breath.

"Where are you staying?" he asked without preamble, as if he'd just happened across Harry while out running errands and hadn't just delivered a mind-shattering blowjob.

Harry forced his eyes open again. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," he murmured.

Draco gave him a mild sneer, just the slightest curl of his upper lip to signal his displeasure. "That place is a shithole," he said without inflection. "You'll stay with me."

And even though it wasn't a question, Harry, with his brain still fuzzy and tingling from the intensity of his orgasm, said, "Yes."


End file.
